A Fattening Time Behind Bars
by The-AU-enthusiast
Summary: "My name is Peter Parker. I am 19 years old, a student at Midtown High School. I work at The Daily Bugle as a writer and photographer. The first thing that happened to me when I came to work at the Bugle today was that I was arrested... (Post-Season 2, Peter gets sent to jail to test a new cell and expands his horizons.)
1. Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter 1: Arrival.

* * *

The handcuffs around Peter's wrists rattled behind his back as he was led through the prison corridors. James Jonas Jameson was jabbering on beside him as the two security guards behind and in front of him kept marching down the dull colored corridors in a stony silence.

Peter shifted his arms a bit, feeling the cold silvery steel of the cuffs digging into his restrained wrists as they kept walking through the quiet prison.

This was not what he expected when he arrived to work today.

* * *

Getting his hands pulled behind his back by two waiting police officers and handcuffed a moment later before he could even voice his thoughts or objections when he arrived at James' office after that he had called him in had not been one of the things he thought would happen to him today. Or ever.  
And even when James explained the what's and why's as Peter had struggled against his restraints and the officers vice-like hold on his arms, Peter wasn't okay with it.  
He really wasn't given a choice in the matter, even if James said that he did. Especially since all of the basis of what was going on was being explained to him as he was lead through the office, his hands behind his back as he was walked towards a waiting prisoner escort truck waiting for him outside the building.

At least James joined him for the ride to the prison, explaining things further as Peter was secured in a waiting seat. As if he really was a high-security, flight risk criminal. He even had guards seated next to him for crying out loud.

And during that tension-filled journey in the confined space of the prison transport, James explained everything in less hurried details.

It wasn't as if Peter couldn't do anything else but listen to him. Or as if he had a choice in the matter.

First off: He wasn't under arrest. No matter how it looked like it right now. And when they arrived at the prison that they were going to, he wasn't going to be a prisoner there either. No matter how it looked.

It apparently had a lot to do with papers and contracts of various kinds.

Second: His school and his aunt were being informed of the situation as they spoke.

Thirdly: The reason behind all of this was that James, or rather, The Daily Bugle had been contacted by the warden of the prison that housed most, if not all of Spiderman's captured enemies to date. It was the same prison that previously had built a special cell that was meant to be inescapable that had its merits tested on Spiderman some time ago.

They had apparently built a brand new, highly specialized maximum security cell. With brand new rules for the personnel of the prison to work with regarding the inmate of the cell. And just like last time, they wanted documentation and see if the cell lived up to its expectations. But instead of wanting to go and find Spiderman again to test the cell for the duration of whatever time limit that they had set up for the test, they had contacted James and The Daily Bugle and asked if he was willing to let one of his writers test the cell for them.

James had apparently jumped at the chance and taken it without question and had chosen Peter out of all of the writing crew at the paper.

Peter would have liked to have known that before he was handcuffed, shoved into a prison transport and basically treated like a criminal and told his boss as much.

\- Don't worry Peter. The choice to accept this honor is all yours. All you need to do to get out of those straps, cuffs and this car is to say "No". Just a simple "No" will do and you will go free and we will pretend like this never happened and I will go and choose someone else for the task. James explained evenly, his expression cold and none judging.

Peter went quiet for a moment, mulling over his choices.  
If he said "No", then someone else would have to go through what he just went through. Just probably a bit more informed then he was.

But in the end, James had already made his choice for him already. And he kinda hated his boss for that.

\- It's not like I really have a choice in the matter. You've already told my school and Aunt May of the situation. So I might as well go through with it anyway now that everything has already been prepared for me. Peter relented with a sigh of defeat as he shifted in his bonds and tried to get comfortable now that he was going through with it.  
James grinned at him.  
\- Perfect Peter! I'd knew you would agree to it! You're never one not to go head first into unknown territory if that nose of yours has picked up the scent of a great scoop! James had shouted gleefully before he sat back down as the truck went over a few bumps in the road.

Then, as Peter thought over James' words and his own decision, James put his hand in his pocket and sent a message away.

It was only later that Peter would learn that neither his aunt or his school were informed of his absence and the situation around until AFTER he had agreed to the whole thing.  
Peter wasn't happy when he found THAT out. He REALLY wanted to punch in his bosses' nose after that.

* * *

Eventually, the journey came to an end when the truck came to a stop and the doors were opened, drowning the dark space in light again. It nearly blinded Peter and James for a second.

Then James was ordered to vacate the car so that they could prepare Peter for the escort.

Once James was fully out of the vehicle, with both feet on the grounds, the officers on either side of Peter stood up and were joined by a pair of prison guards who walked up to Peter, undid all the straps keeping him locked to his seat before they grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

After that, the guards took the lead as the officers walked up behind Peter, with the officers grabbing hold of his wrists while the guards pulled him forward by the shoulders.  
And when Peter's eyes had readjusted to the full force of the daylight sun he saw that yes, it was indeed the same prison that he had escaped as Spiderman half a year ago.

Rikers Island Penitentiary.

It was still the same dull colored, block-shaped building with wire fences on either side of the water canal that went around it.

Peter was guided through the prisoner entry point while James was guided through the visitor's gate.

The two didn't meet up again until Peter had been freed from his handcuffs and given a bundle of orange clothes that were meant to be roughly his size. He did give them his measurements after all.

Then he was shoved into an empty room and told to change into the clothes that he was given. And that he should fold up the clothes that he was wearing at the moment as neatly as he possibly could. They were meant to become a bundle the same size and of the same neatness as the bundle he had just been given.

The clothes he was going to wear for the foreseeable future were: A pair of brown, none descript slip-on shoes. A plain white sleeveless T-shirt. And, to really hammer the feeling home, a two-piece, zipper up orange prison uniform with a white, empty tag on the left side. Right over his heart.

Peter had barely started taking his clothes off after having stared at the five pieces of clothes he was going to be wearing for some time ahead when the door opened and James stepped inside.  
\- I was just told that they are still preparing the final parts of the cell that you are going to be staying in while here. So you can take your time. James said as he went through the door and closed it behind him before he walked up to Peter, ignoring his red face.  
\- Since you're here anyway, you might as well help me get everything the way they want it to be. Peter said with a grunt as he pulled off his sweater and threw it at James.  
\- Sure. Just don't get used to bossing me around Peter, or I will have you charged for insubordinate behavior and have you locked up here for real. And then it probably won't be as pleasant as your stay here presumably is going to be. James shot back as he pulled the sweater off his face and started straightening it out and folding it together.  
Peter raised an eyebrow at James' statement, but he didn't elaborate.

Eventually, Peter got out of his regular clothes and into the prison outfit while James finished up folding his clothes into a neat, small, square-shaped bundle.  
The uniform was a bit too big for him. It hung loosely over his rather slim, but muscular body in an overly baggy fashion.

James left the room with his bundled up clothes in hand, saying that he was going to hand it to the staff so that they could put his personal belongings in storage. But not before telling him to go through the door on the opposite side of the room now that he had his new clothes on. With the parting words that the people on the other side had been waiting for him.

On the other side of the door was where Peter got his prisoner profile mugshots taken. Front, back, left, right.  
And also took his height and weight.  
They really went all out with going through the whole "Prisoner Introduction" procedure.

And it was there that he was given his "Prisoner Identification Number".  
It was: 1962-08-15.  
For some reason, that number made something tingle in Peter's body when he first saw it.  
But at the same time, he really didn't like being stripped down and identified with a number.

Peter really didn't care about anything else that the stood on the "Prisoner Information Sign" that he was made to hold while his mugshots were taken.

He was to busy being put off by the dehumanizing feeling of the whole procedure to care enough to look at what the sign said at the time.

In hindsight, he really should have.

Once the mugshots were done, the four security guards that had been waiting patiently at one side of the room walked up to him.  
They had been eying him through the whole procedure and after a few short greetings and a few "Nothing personal" and "Just following procedure" from them, one of them asked him to put his hands back behind his back.

Peter let out a tired sigh as he did and shortly after felt his hands being handcuffed back together again.  
Then his number tag was printed out and put in its place above his heart.

After that, they lined up around him and told him to follow them. Peter didn't say that he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

James was waiting for them on the other side of the exit door from the photo room and joined Peter as he was escorted through the prison towards his cell.

* * *

And that was how he ended up where he was. Being led through a prison as a prisoner in all but name. Treated as a high priority flight risk and threat. With his boss jabbering on beside him with pointless platitudes and reassurances.

Apparently, his aunt would be allowed to send his stuff to him and the school would send him the homework and assignments that he would be missing while he rotted behind bars.

Those small blessings were to little comfort for Peter, who now had nothing but those small things hanging over his head.

He really hoped that Daredevil, Deadpool, Black Cat and The Fantastic Four could fill up for him while he was gone from the streets.

* * *

Peter put an end to James monologue by asking the question he had been meaning to ask ever since he was informed of his upcoming task.

\- Is all of this really necessary? Peter asked as they continued walking through the seemingly endless corridors filled with one identical cell after the other.

He wished he didn't ask.

\- Yes! Of course, it is Peter. While you may not officially be a prisoner in this whole ordeal, you are still meant to be treated like a prisoner in the fancy new cell that the prison has built that you are here to test. So even if you haven't done anything wrong, for this experience to be as genuine as possible, you need to experience everything that you would experience if you really were the kind of prisoner that would be incarcerated within the cell. Now, remember Peter. You are going to be treated as a mixture of all the kinds of prisoners that new special cell is designed for. That being a squealer. Someone with enough to make their stay as luxurious as a vacation. And as a High Value and Powerful Political Prisoner. And per our agreement, you are also tasked to test the escapability of the high-security isolation cell to see just how inescapable and unpenetrable the cell really is over your task to document your treatment on a daily basis. Once you have been locked up in the cell, you are free to make yourself as at home as you can. You aren't going to see the other side of the bars for 4 months after all. Ha ha ha. Jameson happily answered him as he put a hand on his left shoulder and turned his head towards him. Never breaking stride as he spoke.  
Peter sighed heavily in defeat. The time of turning back has long since passed by now.  
\- Fine. Peter said with an annoyed sigh.

But at least he knew what he was going to be doing now for the foreseeable future.

Even if 4 months was a while.

A long while at that.

Peter went back to being contemplatively silent and allowed Jameson to fill the silence left from their short dialogue, leading him to prattle on about his task and some pointless platitudes and reassurances as he thought of his decision once more.

When looking up to a 4-month absence from the rest of the world, maybe "No" would have been the better decision in the end.

James' hand on his shoulder was far from reassuring him right now.

* * *

Eventually, they reached the end of the corridor and Peter's eyes went wide at just the sight of the outside of the cell that they were heading towards.

It was HUGE!

And that was only from the front!

A square, opaque white glass walls made up the front of the cell and the square itself took up twice, if not four times as much room as the cells that they had passed on their way here.

Peter did some quick math in his head together with his observations as they came closer and closer to the cell. And the closer they came, the more he realized.

The cell was four times as big as a regular cell in the prison. It was wide enough to fit four regular sized cells in it alone. And by the looks of things. What with the roof being a lot higher up on this level than on the previous level. And with the square wall of opaque glass reaching the top of the ceiling while still retaining its square shape, it was as tall as four cells stacked on top of one another.

And given that the corridor that the cell occupied was approaching a lot faster then Peter was expecting, Peter would take a wager that the cell was four times as deep as a regular cell.

That was potentially a lot of space for him to occupy for the foreseeable future.

And from what he could see, there were no other cells near the cell. On either side of the cell.

In fact, looking back on what they had passed on their way, Peter couldn't recall passing a single cell on their way through the floor.

There was only one cell on this entire floor.

And it was the cell that he was going to be occupying for four whole months.

He would have the whole floor of the prison for himself.

All to himself in his confined lonesome.

Now that was a horrifying thought.

Peter shivered hard enough to nearly stop as he began to feel queasy. The chains of his handcuffs rattled as he tried to take a steadying breath.

\- You okay there Peter? James asked beside him, his voice dropping the bravado for a second as he turned his head halfway towards him and gave him a surprisingly concerned look.  
\- Ye-yea-yeah...Peter said weakly, his body trembling as he lowered his head and kept his gaze on the dull grey metal floor instead of the rapidly approaching wall of opaque glass.  
\- There is still the option of saying "No" to all of this and backing away if you don't fell up to it anymore, kid. James said reassuringly as he turned towards Peter and leveled his eyes at him. Jame's tone was surprisingly soft and reassuring and his eyes showed some genuine concern and understanding.  
Peter came to a stop, making the whole escort team stop as Peter shifted in his handcuffs as he averted his gaze from his boss' for a second or two.  
\- I am already here. Handcuffed, mugshot taken, suited up and all. And the cell is right there. It's too late for seconds thoughts now. Peter said with a resigned voice as he turned himself back towards the white wall that loomed before him.  
\- Look, kid. No one would blame you for wanting to back down from this. I can only imagine how hard it must be for someone being cut off from everyone that they care about and the rest of the world for 4 whole months. James said understandingly as he put a reassuring hand on Peter's back.  
Peter let out a tired, exhausted and resigned breath before he seemed to steel himself for what he was going to.  
\- It's not like anyone else but Aunt May wants to see me right now. Peter said morosely in a melancholic voice with a somber look in his eyes. Peter said as he turned his head fully away from James and towards the cell in front of him and started walking again.

The moment that Peter started walking, so did everyone else.

\- Hey, don't sell yourself, short kid. James said as he picked up the pace and caught back up to Peter before giving him a reassuring smack on the back that justled him enough to nearly make him falter in his steps again.  
The chain of the handcuffs restraining Peter's hands rattled as he stumbled forward from the impact.  
Yet even when James appeared beside him again, he didn't say anything.  
\- I'm sure there are more people then your aunt that are going to miss you while you're gone. James said as placatingly and as softly as he could manage.  
\- I'm not so sure of that. Peter said morosely as he kept his gaze locked on his home for the next four months onward.  
\- You do know that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder", right? James fired back, an argumentative growl curling in the back of his throat.  
\- Yes. Or the distance further. Peter said sullenly.

James closed his mouth with a click of his teeth before he crossed his arms and let out a sigh of resignation.

Maybe Peter would benefit from some time of introspection?

James shook his head as he kept walking beside Peter.

* * *

The guards parted ways and Peter saw the door that would seal his fate and keep him from the rest of the world for the next few months.

It was a single, simple rectangle cut through the left side of the opaque white glass, with the borders of the door being made from thick strips of metal.

The same treatment was given to the surprisingly large slide open window that was placed in the door at the hand height for a regular adult male.

It was a surprisingly large opening in the door for being the only thing that would open regularly in a door that was meant to be kept closed. The rectangular hole that it would leave behind seemed to be large enough to get a surprisingly large plate through the opening.

The doors were cut right out of the glass and the openings that they created were reinforced with worked in mechanism made from extra durable and thick metal.

Peter could tell from just a quick once-over glance of the only opening in the whole wall that the door was hardly going to budge, no matter what anyone did on either side of the door.

The cell was made to keep anyone uninvited out and the one inside from getting out. And that was what it looked like it did.

* * *

The six-man entourage walked out of the straight corridor that they had been walking through for a while now and exited into the empty corridor on the other side.

The warden of the prison was waiting beside the door. As was two more security guards placed on either side of the door.

James split off from the group and walked ahead of them to talk to the warden for a bit as Peter and the guards kept their pace as they walked out into the corridor and to the left. Towards the waiting door.

\- You certainly took your time. The warden said gruffly as the guards walked past him, Peter walking silently between them.

Peter didn't even turn to look at him as the small group passed him. He just wanted to get this whole thing over and done with. The faster he got locked up, the better. At least then he would have some time to think for himself and not have his decisions made for him again.

\- Yeah, sorry about that pal. Peter got cold feet a few times. James said placatingly as he sauntered up to the stocky, white-bearded man.

\- I don't blame the boy for having second thoughts about this. He looks far to young to even be remotely comfortable with being locked up here. Even if there are worse places to be locked up then this beauty. The warden explained while both he and James watched the four guards escort Peter to the door.

The moment that they did, James excused himself from the warden's side and walked over to Peter and the guards.

Peter was a mixture of numbness, exhaustion, and resignation as he looked at the plain, opaque white wall made from 10 layers of a thick bullet and force resistant glass, mixed with 20 layers of twice as thick and resistant plastic in between.

At least the guards that were guarding the door were kind enough to tell him that much.

Then the two guards ahead of him split up while the other guard put in a code in a code lock before going through a whole identification procedure before the door jutted into the opposite wall with a mechanical hiss of force.

The two guards in front of him closed the space in front of him again before the two walked in ahead of him.

Then the two guards behind him pushed him forward and Peter marched into the cell.

The two guards blocked his immediate view of the inside of the cell. But he didn't care much about that right now.

He cared more about the fact that he couldn't see ANYTHING of what he just walked past through the opaque glass wall.

As well as the distinctive feeling of one guard grabbing hold of his wrists while the other justled with his handcuffs before they came undone.

Peter blinked as his whole body shook as his hands were suddenly no longer restrained behind his back.

But he had barely had a chance to move his hands around and start rubbing his sore wrists before the two guards in front of him turned around and walked past him, through the door behind him. Prompting him to turn around as well.

Only to see the guards leaving the cell.

\- Lunch is in two hours. Was the last guard's parting words to him before they exited the cell.

And James and the warden standing in the middle of the corridor, perfectly in view from the opening in the wall.

\- Goodbye, Peter. See you in four months. James said with a booming voice as he waved Peter goodbye.

\- Goodbye. Peter said lowly, his voice thick as all that he could see was the backs of the guards, a tiny fraction of the corridor, the gate guards elbows, one of which faced his way, James, and the warden.

Then the door slammed shut with an aggressive mechanical hiss.

And the moment that one side of the door met the other, there was a distinctive whirr and hiss of the door being vacuum sealed in place.

Perfect.

Now he was alone.

With only the silence that was filled by his breathing as his only company for the next sixteen weeks of his life.

* * *

Peter let out a sigh as he looked at the white door and wall, barely able to tell the two apart if it wasn't for the metal that lined the outer parts of the door.

Then, while still rubbing his sore wrists, he turned around and looked at the place where he was going to be staying for four months.

And his eyes went wide once more.

* * *

He really should have paid more attention to what James said.

Because just like getting arrested was the furthest thing he thought would happen to him today, the cell that he found himself in right now was the furthest thing from a cell that he had ever seen.

It was more of a luxury apartment than anything even remotely related to a prison cell.

While the walls and the ceiling were made from the same dull dark grey metal as the walls, floor, and ceiling on the other side of the opaque glass wall behind him, the floor of the cell was made out of black marble.

Simple, yet powerful lights shone softly down from the ceiling. Each light placed in a 4x4 pattern that spread their light across the cell equally. The light wasn't too harsh or bright, nor was it soft enough to barely make a difference in the cell. Peter was just thankful that the lights weren't blinding.

Stepping forward, while still rubbing his sore wrists, Peter looked across the cell.

Elegant and regal looking carpets covered the majority of the floor. The carpet took up 3 fourths of the cell floor. The only areas that it didn't cover was right near the entrance, where two rows of marble floor panels served as the entrance area to the cell. And the area at the back of the cell. Otherwise, the carpet went from one side of the room to the next.

Taking a step onto the soft carpet and pulling his eyes away from the fancy and intricate pattern on the carpet, Peter took a look at what made up the main area of the cell.

On the left, there was a desk next to a heavily bolted ventilation door. And on the desk, Peter could see his folded up computer waiting for him at the desk.  
A large, wheeled chair that looked comfortable just to look at waited for him in front of the desk, right by the border of the floor carpet.

Beside the desk was a large open area of space before the built-in toilet jutted out of the wall together with a cleaning area.

It seemed as if the cell was a one-room apartment with how it had everything that one would need to manage in the same room without any walls.

The silver toilet had a fold-down cover and it was the only thing that didn't seem to be of the same high quality or class as everything else around it. And it, beyond the clothes that Peter was wearing at the moment, served as a reminder that even though he was locked up in a luxury apartment, he was still in a prison.

Above it was a motion sensor, probably for flushing and beside it was a built-in toilet paper roller, with the paper already there. But with no spare rolls in sight.

Right beside the toilet on the left was a silver sink and faucet. A soap dispenser was attached to the wall a bit above and to the right of the faucet. One of his hand towels from home hung on a dull silver hook left of the sink.

A bit away from the toilet was a blessing and a relief for Peter.

The room had its own private shower.

Thank Fuck for that.

And unlike the toilet, the shower looked like it belonged in the room.

Half circle shaped with a raised area, with 90-degree curved glass doors with golden handles, a back made out of dark brown, shiny wood and with a deep sea blue tiled floor. The back of the shower was flush with the wall of the cell, so when he closed the half circle cubicles, he would still be able to see the whole room. At least until he closed his eyes during the shower.

Three of his towels from his bathroom at home hung on a three-leveled warming towel rack between the toilet and the shower.

At the other end of the room, placed close to the end of the carpet on the right, perfectly slotted between the carpet and the metal wall was a big, red colored bed with a body made out dark brown mahogany. And resting on the perfectly made covers on the bed were several pairs of his underwear. Each and every one of them neatly folded up into square-shaped bundles. No doubt done by the prison personnel.

A bit further down on the right was another piece mahogany furniture. This one more like low-level desk than anything. It was placed flush against the wall and taking up most of the top of the desk was a large, wide screen, high definition, simulated 3d TV. First class.

Peter had to whistle at that.

And below the Tv, on the first level below the Tv where several gaming consoles. All of them deactivated, but all of them just waiting for activation.

Beneath the consols, on the level below it, was a whole slew of games for the various consoles. All of them, Peter noted had something either do with police work or crime, with games like GTA 4 & 5, to L.A Noir.

Perfectly aligned with the TV desk was a double floor mahogany table with both its center and lower level made out of clear glass. The wood of the table, just like the bed was intricately and regally sculpted to look as luxurious and welcoming as possible.

The wide sofa was the same story as the table, as its legs, the center of the armrests and the foundation of the back were made out of mahogany. The rest and the majority of the sofa at that were covered in plush, thick, red cushions that looked to be incredibly soft from where Peter was standing.

Peter noted that if he had a need to rush to the toilet, he only needed to walk around the left corner of the sofa to get to the toilet.

He had to quirk his lips at that thought. The one-room apartment design wasn't so bad for him if it meant that he could watch Tv from the toilet.

* * *

Then his attention was drawn to the two remotes that were lying on the table.

One of them was obviously for the Tv, whose red light was just waiting to turn green at the push of the "On" button on the remote.

The second one piqued his interest enough to pick it up and inspect it.

It was a black rectangular device that looked like a mixture of a remote and a walkie-talkie.

The lower part of the device housed a microphone, with the speaker placed at the top of the device. Two push in buttons were on either side of the speaker and Peter guessed that he would have to push them both in at the same time to speak.

Inbetween the speaker and the microphone was what looked like a thermostat, with two circular dials on either side. One with a red half circle arrow going up on the left and a blue half circle arrow going downward on the right.

Peter pushed in the two buttons and when he heard the microphone click, he raised it to his mouth and asked the question that he wanted to ask.  
\- Um...Hello?..Wh... is this? What am I holding right now? Peter asked the device.  
And not a second after he had voiced his question, the speaker crackled.  
 _\- Hello to you too, Peter._ The brusque voice of the warden crackled through the speaker to Peter's surprise.  
 _\- What you are currently holding in your hands right now is the Cell Remote._ The Warden explained once the greetings were over.  
\- Cell Remote? Peter asked curiously as he inspected the Cell Remote further.  
 _\- Yes, Peter. With that remote in your hand, you can control every part of your cell. The temperature with the sliders above the call buttons. And the lights, with the slide between the thermostat and the microphone. But that is not all. If there is anything that you want, ANYTHING, a second lunch, a massage, a bath or something else that isn't a change in clothes, or you being released from your cell prematurely, just use the call feature and ask for it._ The warden elaborated as Peter's eyes went wide in shock.  
\- What?! Anything?! Really!? Peter asked in surprised shock, his eyes wide as he sat down on the sofa.  
The moment he did, he felt the softness of the high-quality cushions beneath his rear and a second later, he leaned his back against the back cushions and started to relax a whole lot more.  
 _\- Yes. Anything. Mostly. Within limitations, of course._ The warden said as Peter let out a sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself a moment to just enjoy the sofa that was softer than his own bed.

If the sofa was this good, then he wondered just how good the bed would be.

\- So...This is basically my room-service phone? Peter asked after a moment of thinking about the warden's words after having pushed himself back to the present.  
 _\- Yes. Basically. But don't overdo it, okay?_ The warden admitted after a moment of silence.  
\- Okay. Peter said as he heaved himself off the far too comfortable couch and continued inspecting his new home for the next few months.

A home that started looking more and more welcoming by the seconds he stayed within its walls.

* * *

Then he hit the buttons again and started asking a few questions that immediately came to mind.

And once he had asked his questions, the Warden quickly got to answer them.

He didn't need to worry about the plumbing in the toilet. The pipes attached to it went separately from the waste pipes in the rest of the prison. They took a completely different route and didn't even share the same cleaning facility. The water in the silver throne in his cell was actually cleaner then it was in its many twins on the lower levels. Peter didn't need to know that.

The ventilation system was a similar story.

There were four large ventilation ports spread throughout the room. Two in the ceilings and two in level with the floor. One beside his personal desk and one beneath the observation desk. The four ventilation tunnels were all connected to each other, but the ventilation tunnel that they all connected to was disconnected from the ventilation shafts in the rest of the prison. They didn't blow out or suck in air at the same areas as the rest of the prison ventilation.

That was a reassurance to Peter. At least he didn't have to worry of prisoners escaping through the ventilation, climbing up to the separate upper level and finding their way to the cell and break in and beat him up.

Peter told the warden as much and the warden got a good laugh from what he said and then reassured him further by informing that the possibilities for all that were minimal to next to impossible.

Then Peter caught onto something else that the warden had said and asked what he meant about "The Observation Desk".

* * *

To answer that, The Warden directed him to the secondary desk standing a bit away from the TV desk.

It was a desk similar the desk were is computer was waiting for him to open it.

But instead of a secondary computer resting on the table was a single keyboard in front of dozens upon dozens of screens. Each and every one of them no smaller than a touchpad. And each one of them seemingly showing live footage from a hidden observation camera in each and every cell that wasn't his in the prison.

When he asked the warden about it, he confirmed it. The footage was live. And only he could see it.

The warden then informed him of the two tasks he was going to be performing during his stay at the prison.

His first task was before him.

It was an easy task. Just watch the various inmates and if he saw them doing something suspicious (but only saw, since the live footage featured no sound) like plotting or about to try to perform a breakout. All that he would have to do to stop it would be to punch in the numbers corresponding to the cell, camera and the letters corresponding to the cell block and hit "Enter". The staff would take care of the rest for him from there.

* * *

The second task was basically the same as the task he performed when he was here the last time. As Spiderman.

But The Warden didn't know that he had been locked up in the prison before. Or that he was Spiderman for that matter. And he had to keep it that way.

The Warden explained that he was going to try and escape through the ventilation shafts and see how far along he could get.

They were specifically designed to be wide enough to allow them to funnel more air to and from the cell, so they were wide enough to crawl through. Which was why the prison had gone the extra mile and done a lot of security upgrades to the ventilation system that heated and cooled down Peter's luxury cell.

He was going to see how far he was able to make it through it (without his powers) to see whether or not the cell truly was inescapable.

He was free to start trying whenever he wanted. Including now if he wanted to.

All he needed to do to do so was to ask for a screwdriver to undo the screws to one of the two floor leveled ventilation grates.

\- Maybe later. Peter answered the warden honestly, not feeling up to crawl through the kind of space he thought he was going to be locked up in for four whole months just yet.

Then he noticed what laid beyond the observation desk and the shower area.

* * *

The end of the cell was one massive outward square shaped glass alcove made out of several windows held in place by a square-shaped web.

The beams that held the web together were just as thick as the steel beams that lined the door and the opening hatch in the cell door.

Peter walked past the exercise equipment that was on the marble floor between the shower, observation desk and where the glass alcove began.

There was a bench press, an arm press, wrist and leg weights, hand weights and an arm weight and lastly, a treadmill.

Looking down through the glass panels, Peter could see the Prison Courtyard expand beneath his feet, with the city beyond the high wall and wire fences of the prison.

It was quite a view.

Peter made an appreciative whistle at the rather astounding view that the cell had as the warden explained that the window of the cell was, as he suspected, one way. He could see the city and the courtyard (as well as the prisoners currently outside), but they didn't see him. The prisoners thought or had been told that the glass construct was a new watchtower station. It's position over the courtyard only enhanced that belief.

But it wasn't.

It was a first-class luxury cell.

The glass was also of the same kind as the wall opposite it. The same wall that was the door was.

But in this case, one-third of resistant glass was one way, the second third was bulletproof and the last third was made out a glass that was tied to another slider, this one above the upward dial, on the Cell Remote.

The slider allowed Peter to control how much light the outward windows let into the cell. Meaning that Peter could have as little or much light in the cell as he wanted.

And considering that he held the remote to the electronic lights in his hand, he had no "Lights Out". And since he already was in an isolation cell, he had no curfew either.

But the warden curbed his enthusiasm by telling him that he was speaking through his Cell Remote's brother. It didn't have any control of the temperatures in the room, but it had a "Reset" button on it. As well as a button that allowed him to control the power and the lights in the cell.

He was going to go to sleep when the other prisoners did.

But beyond that, he was allowed to sleep in as long as he wanted.

* * *

With all his questions answered for at the moment, Peter forced himself to pull his head away from the city he had promised himself to protect.

Once he had done so, he made it a bit easier for himself by raising the opaqueness of the windows to hide the city from his view if he was to turn around again.

Not that he didn't.

Instead, he walked up to the desk next to the floor leveled ventilation shaft that was closest to the inward wall.

Once he was in front of his computer, Peter called the warden again while he booted up his computer.

He did not need to worry about his laundry.

His clothes would be washed in the prison laundry. The warden informed him that of course there were more uniforms his size that he could wear while it was cleaned. The underwear he used would get sent back to his aunt for cleaning and Aunt May had agreed to send him more underwear for him to wear during his stay.

His computer snapped to life by the end of The Warden's explanation that had left Peter both red-faced and smiling fondly at his aunt's love and care for him.

Then he asked what the password for the cell's own private Wifi. Now that caught him by surprise. The warden had told him what wifi to log onto and when he asked for the password, he answered simply.

Apparently, it was his name and his Prisoner Identification Number. Two things he wasn't going to forget during his stay here: PeterParker19620815.

With the Wifi name being: NY Rikers Island Penitentiary.

Once he was logged in, he sent a mail to James to tell him that he was all set up for work.

And before James had a chance to respond to him, Peter opened a new document and started working on his main task here.

Documenting everything about his stay here.

 _"My name is Peter Parker. I am 19 years old, a student at Midtown High School. I work at The Daily Bugle as a writer and photographer._  
 _The first thing that happened to me when I came to work at the Bugle today was that I was arrested..._

* * *

Less then 2 hours later, lunch arrived and Peter was in for a surprise.

 **To Be Continued.**

* * *

Finished.

That's the end of the beginning of this story.

This is Chapter 1 of 15.

This takes place a few months after the end of Season 2.

There might not have been any weight gain in this one, not even a single mention of it in this part.

But don't worry, it's coming.

This story will live start to live up to its name as soon as Chapter 2.

The picture was done by the ever wonderful and consistently amazing artist as a reward for me.

 **Update 2018/04/08:** Changed some sentences. Added some, removed some and rewrote others. Also finally added the link to Part 2.

 **Update: 2018/04/10:** Corrected some more grammar and corrected the name of the prison. I thought it went unnamed. Apparently, it didn't and nobody told me what it was called. But now Rikers Island is in there instead of New York Maximum Penitentiary.

Spiderman, Peter Parker and James Jonna Jameson belongs to Marvel & Disney.  
The Spectacular Spiderman belongs to Greg Weisman and Victor Cook.  
This is fanart and fanfiction. It is not a violation of copyrights.


	2. Chapter 2: Settling In

Chapter 2: Settling In.

* * *

Peter was disturbed from his midday nap on the sofa by the sound of a buzzer going off at the door.

A buzzer that was accompanied by a robotic, female voice.

 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker. Please come to the door._ The voice said between buzzes before repeating with a tireless drone as Peter let out a pained groan as he forced his eyes open and heaved himself off the sofa.

His belly ached as he pushed himself upright before plopping his shoeless feet onto the soft carpeted floor and did as he was told.

* * *

Two footprints lit up in green on a tile of the obsidian black marble floor about an arms reach away from the metal door in the opaque glass wall that separated Peter from the rest of the prison.

 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker, please stand in the designated area._ The female voice continued to drone as Peter made his way to the door.

Once he was there, he planted both his white-socked feet onto the two green footprints and waited.  
Then a faint click sounded from the floorplate.  
 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker, is in position._ The voice stated tonelessly as Peter waited patiently where he was standing.

His belly made a pained groan, causing Peter to moan for a moment and put both his hands on the tight, round sphere that protruded out of his midsection.  
Yesterday, he hadn't had a belly the that was larger than a football. No. Yesterday, his chest had been flat.  
But today, his lower midsection took a definitive outward curve beneath his uniform. His uniform that yesterday was loose fitting and baggy.  
Today, on the other hand, it was considerably tighter, especially around his near rock solid belly that had been apparent on his figure since his first lunch yesterday.

Since then, he had eaten a similarly sized dinner and breakfast to the lunch that rounded up his waistline and considerably tightened his uniform in a one go.  
He had gone from a noticeable and tight muffintop at the end of his first lunch.

To a potbelly when he had gone to bed after his first dinner.  
Then he had gone from a small potbelly to a much more pronounced potbelly after his first breakfast.

Now after his midday nap, Peter was pretty sure that his stuffed belly would barely even shrink if he tried to suck it in.

And even after he had taken a nap after the big breakfast he had been served this morning his stomach still hadn't fully digested what he ate yet.

But before Peter had a chance to calm down his aggravated stomach, the female voice sounded up again.  
 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker. Please remain within an arm's reach of the door. Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker, please raise your arms and reach towards the door. If your hands reach the door, take a step backward until you do not reach it. This security measure will conclude when you do not reach the door._ The voice instructed Peter did as he was told and ignored his gurgling belly for a moment to straighten out his arms and reach for the door.

After having grabbed the air for a few seconds, there was another click.

 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker is out of reach of the door._ The voice stated patiently as Peter lowered his arms back to his side. Only to quickly move them back to his gurgling and stuffed belly a second later as it groaned beneath its orange confinement.  
And then the voice continued.  
 _\- Prisoner 19620815: Peter Parker, please remain within an arms reach of the door. Any signs of aggression, such as: Any sudden and quick movements. Any attempted violent act against yourself or prison personnel. Any attempts to pull the guard into the cell. Will result in immediate subdual and reproval. And possible restrictions on your privileges._ The voice informed dully and even though Peter had only gone through the song and dance three times already, he already rolled his eyes at the monotone spiel that he was told.

There was another click as Peter waited as patiently as he could while remaining as still as he could where he stood.

Then the rectangular hatch in the metal door slid up and out of the way.

And the sweet aroma of food wafted through the rectangular opening as the second of Peter's six daily opportunities for human contact happened.

A pair of dark-skinned hands came through the opening, holding a handle of a silver tray in each hand.

Then, as Peter leaned forward, the hands moved so that the right supported the weight of the silver tray while the left went for the top of the heat-conserving dome that also hid the food from Peter's view.

\- Here's your lunch, prisoner 196290815. The guard said as courteously as he could while he handed over the silver tray to Peter's waiting hands while pulling off the silver lid at the same time.  
\- Sweet! Peter exclaimed excitedly as he saw the first class, top quality food that he was being served.  
On the first tray, there was a top quality, super-sized burger with a similarly sized and equally high quality looking bag of french fries beside it.  
And beside it was a simple, yet elegant looking, top quality cheese and ham sandwich.  
Both meals resting on a still hot plate and both still oozing heat and smell of their own.

He gratefully accepted the tray and as the guard retracted their hands, Peter put the silver lid back onto the tray and made his way to the sofa where he put it down on the glass table.  
Once he returned to the door empty-handed, he found the guard reaching through the door with another silver tray waiting for him in his hands.

This continued seven more times until Peter had nine silver trays all lined up across the glass table in front of the sofa.  
Each tray contained a typical meal by itself. But triplicated, just three of them could count as a three-course meal in and of itself.  
Each of the nine trays was separated into 3 categories. Taster. Main course. Dessert. But as previously stated, there was enough on one of the plates to qualify as a meal in and of itself. Regardless if it was only "Tasters" or "Desserts".  
And each tray of each category was a variation of one type of meal.  
For example, the main course of Peter's lunch was all a sandwich of the highest quality, paired with a hamburger and fries of equal quality. One was meat, the other chicken and the third was a different kind of meat. And each paired with a different bread and type of fries. As well as a different kind of sandwich to boot.  
So while Peter got the same chewing experience for each part of the main course, his taste experience varied greatly from one tray to the next.  
The same kind of rule applied to the "Tasters" and "Dessert". Same theme, different variations of it.

* * *

And once Peter had lined everything up, with the "Tasters" in the front, the "Main Course" in the middle and the "Desserts" at the back of the table, he pulled the silver lids off one last time before he turned on the Tv and started digging into his lunch.

* * *

The first time his food had arrived at his cell, Peter had been in for one hell of a surprise.

He was still expecting that he would be treated as every other kind of riff-raff and thug that he had helped put behind bars at the place.

So he did not have high expectations when he went through the security procedure for the first time.

The dehumanizing security treatment was enough of a stark reminder that he was still, in all but name, a prisoner.

Sure, his cell was like that out of a dream and he had a lot of liberties and freedoms that had been revoked from his fellow prisoners the moment that they were arrested.  
So when he was not handed a small tray of flimsy plastic the size of a school book with a bit of gravy, jam, mashed potatoes and meatballs and instead was given a still hot, shining silver tray with a lid over his food, he was in for a surprise.  
And he was even more surprised when he saw what his lunch was for the first day in the cell.  
Yes, he was given mashed potatoes, gravy, and jam. But the quantity was A LOT bigger. And all three looked A LOT fresher and seemed to be of a much higher quality.  
And instead of being given 5 or so puny meatballs with barely any meat in them, he was given a large, still oozing and mouth-watering well-done steak to go with the other bits.  
(The variant of the main course, in that case, had been the way the meat was cooked, the kind of sauce and jam, as well as the spices in the mashed potatoes.)

Peter barely believed it and had even called up the warden once he had put down all NINE clean, silver trays onto the glass table.  
He still kept the lids on as he sat down on the sofa and asked the warden whether this was a First Day Special Treatment for a Special Prisoner, or not.  
And he also asked if he was going to get the kind of poor quality food that he was expecting to be given for dinner later. Or if he was only going to be fed once a day, to explain the quantity of food that he was given.

The Warden had gotten a good laugh from his panic-filled quandaries before he had placated his worries and dashed his expectations.  
Because apparently, the answer to whether or not his first lunch was a special occurrence or not was "No". It wasn't a special occurrence in the least.  
And that he could expect the same kind of quality and quantity for dinner and breakfast as well.  
He was a high priority prisoner in the eyes of the facility and he was going to be treated as such.  
As luxuriously as Peter could possibly imagine.  
Peter still hadn't believed The Warden at that point and said as such.  
The Warden had responded that if he wasn't expecting to have a dinner that matched the quality of his lunch, then he was going to be in for a treat.  
Then The Warden had explained the rules of how the meals were set up to him.

* * *

And later in the day, a few hours after he had managed to cram all the food he had been given and had his dirty dishes taken by the guards, even while dealing with a massive stomach ache, an ache that was still as prevalent as before, Peter had been called to the door to receive his dinner.

And both his positive and negative expectations of what his dinner was going to be were both dashed and thrown out the window.

His dinner had been of the same quality as his lunch. And it was an even bigger quantity than his lunch. Which Peter honestly did not think was possible. He had even told The Warden such and gotten a laugh and a challenge to try the food before he made his judgment.  
He did.  
And he was sorely mistaken about whether or not his dinner would beat his lunch.  
It did.  
No questions about that.

By the end of the day, Peter had gone to bed that day feeling as stuffed a turkey the day before Thanksgiving.

But with a tummy ache that felt as big as the prison itself, Peter had gone out like a light and become dead to the world shortly after his head hit the pillow of his luxury bed.

* * *

Earlier in the morning of his second day, he had been woken up by the lights switching on and The Warden calling him to get up over the Cell Remote.

Shortly after, Peter had been served his 9 plates of breakfast foods in nothing more than a pair of striped boxers and the white tank top he had been given by the prison. Not that the guard that gave him his food saw him.

Peter had asked The Warden once again whether or not all of this was some kind of Prisoner's Firsts special treatment while he ate his breakfast or not.  
The Warden had reaffirmed his previous words and had simply repeated him that "No", this wasn't any kind of special treatment. This was the treatment that any inmate that would be locked up in the cell that he was currently in would receive.  
This time Peter believed him. At least a bit.

* * *

And then, when Peter had laid his eyes on the burgers, sandwiches, desserts and various tasters that made up his lunch, he put a lot more credibility on The Warden's voice.  
Especially when he tasted the burgers.  
Their taste was beyond exquisite.  
As was the taste of everything else.  
It was an absolutely glorious time for his tastebud as well as his belly.  
Especially for his belly.

Even as he felt it expand with every bite he took, his clothes and uniform stretching as his belly continued to grow.

But Peter couldn't stop himself from finishing a meal once he had started it.  
It was that was just that gooooooooood.  
And so very, very, very tasty.

And the more he ate of his lunch, the more he hoped that it wasn't a hoax to make his first week in isolation from the world more bearable.

If The Warden's words really were true and every one of his meals that he would be served during his four-month stay in the cell was of the same quality as the four meals he had already had. Then the prospect of spending 4 months in the cell seemed a lot more welcoming and enjoyable by the minute.

* * *

By the end of his lunch, Peter had moved the last plate of burgers and fries onto the sofa as he enjoyed the show that he was currently watching while he ate.  
And as he ate and watched, he considered the possibility and the probability of The Warden's words being true and every meal that he would have during his stay in the prison would be as good as the ones he had already eaten.  
Because if The Warden's words were true, which they probably where then Peter could definitively see himself enjoying his stay in the cell.  
\- I could get used to this. Peter said to himself as he chowed down on his second burger out of three as he continued watching NCIS.  
He ignored the feeling of the orange fabric stretching with nearly every bite that he took as his already pretty full belly made another gurgle as Peter stuffed it further with food.  
There was no doubt in Peter's mind that his belly was becoming even bigger and an even more prominent and pronounced feature on his body the further into his lunch that he got.  
But Peter really didn't care about the fact that he had considered the uniform too small when he was given it yesterday, and now, he was already showing signs of growing out of it.  
Rapidly at that.

Peter guessed that by the end of his four month stay, he would no doubt be in a pretty bad shape if he kept up the food consumption he was going with at the moment.  
But he was alone in the cell. There was no one there to tell him "No" or stop him from finishing his every meal completely, not leaving a single plate untouched and stuffing himself silly in the process.  
Because he could work it off.  
Hopefully.  
It wasn't as if he hadn't worked himself into shape before.  
One did not become a web-slinging hero without having some good muscles on their body after all.  
And one did not gain those muscles by doing nothing every day.  
As he was probably going to be doing now.  
Which no doubt would only cause his already pretty sizeable belly to get even bigger as time progressed.  
But Peter was pretty sure he could work of any weight that he gained during his stay in the cell once he was released.  
He had worked himself into shape before. And he could no doubt do so again.  
He could even do it while inside the prison if he wanted to.  
There was a small gym in his cell after all. So he might as well use it.  
That might save his muscles from atrophying to badly while he enjoyed the privileges and luxuries that he had been given inside the cell.

But he wasn't going to do that now.  
Now, he was going to properly settle into his current situation.

And just he was already getting used to his cell that he was living in for the short foreseeable future. As well as the food that he was going to be given three times a day. Peter was pretty sure that he was going to get used to feeling like a stuffed turkey on the day before Thanksgiving after every meal.

Considering how little he ate on a daily basis otherwise, he was almost looking forward to getting used to that feeling already.

 **To Be Continued.**

* * *

Finished.

And that's a wrap for this month's part.

Told you that the parts would get shorter after the first part.

The first part was the longest because it had A LOT to establish and set up.

And now that all of it has been established, I can now focus in on things and scenes of the story that is more interesting than a tummy less set up.

Which is what this series will mostly be comprised off.

Short snippets, tales and stand out moments and days during Peter's 4-month stay in the most luxurious cell in the world.

Next time: Part 3: Growing Out.

And now, a question.

What title suits this work the best?

"A Fattening Time Behind Bars."

"Incarcerated And Expanding."

"Peter Parker's Luxurious Prison Visit."

Answer in the reviews.


	3. Chapter 3: Growing Out

Chapter 3: Growing Out.

* * *

Peter knew that he was going to put on weight during his four-month stay in the luxurious isolation cell.

He just didn't expect that it would catch up to him as quickly as it did.

It had only been a little over two weeks since he was first incarcerated and he had already run into a key sign that all the top quality food he was eating on a regular basis was having a negative effect on his figure.

He was suffering from daily wardrobe malfunctions.

His uniform had already felt rather tight on just his second day in the cell. And it had only gotten tighter as the big food baby he had hauled around that day had gotten softer as the food inside was digested and turned into fat.

Fat that had made its way over his whole body.

* * *

It had been a process that started on his second day, but one he didn't start to take notice off until he started feeling heavier overall.

One day during his first week, he went to bed with a heavy and aching belly. Stuffed to the brim, but the ache at the end of that day was nothing compared to the tummy ache he felt at the end of his first and second day in the cell.

Peter had no doubt that it was probably because he was not only eating so much that he had an aching belly for most of the day, but also the fact that he and his stomach was slowly getting used to the ache and the feeling of being stuffed.

He had little doubt that it was the reason for his current situation.

He was getting fat.

* * *

And he was getting fatter by the day if the fact that he his uniform strained more and more to contain his growing belly every day was anything to go by. Which it was.

The fact was that he was growing out of his uniform and his uniform struggled to contain his growing body as he kept gaining weight.

He was gaining fat because he was getting used to his new lifestyle.

And that fact was not only obviously apparent for anyone and everyone to see but had made itself known to Peter in the way of making his uniform's hold on him ever tighter by the day.

There was no doubt in his mind that the reason why it had taken until now for the fact that he was getting well and properly fat during his time cooped up in the luxury cell was the fact that the transition between a constantly stuffed, rock hard food baby and a round, soft gut of fat, was a gradual one.

* * *

He kept eating the same amount of food that he was given every day. And he finished every part of it. Down to the last plate. Every day. So no matter what, he was always stuffed and his belly always felt hard because of all the food in it.

But over the course of his stay in the cell, there had been more and more soft and squishy flesh and fat over his solid globe of a stuffed gut.

The weight kind of crept up on him and Peter only really started paying attention to his changing body when he noticed that his food baby was seemingly getting softer and bigger as his uniform was getting tighter all over his body. Not just around his gut.

Because even at that point, food baby or not, that was what it was.

It was a gut. There was no point denying that.

* * *

That had been a week ago. His first week in the cell.

And now, his body had well and truly adapted to its large influx and intake of high-quality food.

His stomach aches grew less and less painful and noticeable and Peter had found himself easier to relax and put himself at ease.

He found himself becoming slower in general.

His steps were no longer slow because he was cautious. Now he just took it easy out of a slowly formed habit of laziness.

He had no need to rush. So he didn't. He had nowhere to go, so when he did go somewhere in his restricted space or did something, he did it a lot slower than before.

Lethargic was not something Peter would use to describe himself as before. But the longer he found himself enjoying his First Class stay at Rikers Island Penetetriary's Luxury Isolation Cell, the more he felt lethargy settle in.

And the more lethargic and lazy he became, the more he enjoyed his cell.

* * *

For about the first half of his first week there, Peter had made it a habit to wander around his cell when he wasn't eating or sleeping.

Something to keep himself going.

But the heavier he got, the slower he got. And the slower he got, the lazier he got. That, of course, led to him getting fatter faster, which lead to him getting heavier faster. And the heavier he got, the less inclined he was to take his short little walks across his cell.

At the start of his stay, Peter had used most of the facilities in the cell at least once or twice every day.

He cataloged his days and sent them to James. He observed the prisoners that were less fortunate than him.

Peter had even talked about trying to see if he could escape the supposedly inescapable cell with The Warden and was informed about that procedure.

It sounded interesting.

But so far, Peter still hadn't given that task a try.

And now?

Now that he had put on a good bit of weight, a weight that was packing on even quicker now that lethargy and laziness had settled into his mind, Peter mostly spent his days at four places.

His bed, the sofa, the toilet and the work desk.

With him going to the toilet the least, then the work desk. He mostly did that just to get the cataloging of his activities done and over with.

Both he and James had noticed that his daily journals were starting to sound very similar to one another.

And he had only been in the cell for a little bit over two weeks already!

Once he was done with the journals, Peter returned to one of his two favorite places in the cell.

The sofa, where he spent most of his days now either watching crime dramas or playing crime and police-related video games.

Or he was just lazing about on the bed.

He could spend hours at either place, just watching Tv, playing games or just lying on his heavenly bed in a lazy haze of lethargy.

* * *

But as he struggled to close his uniform jacket over his large, round, wobbling gut, a task that was getting harder and harder every day, Peter wondered how long his jacket was going to last.

The way the material stretched and the zipper almost creaked when he forced the zipper up over his growing gut, Peter did not think it was going to last that long.

He let out a groan and sucked in his growing belly as best he could to make it easier for the zipper to make it past the globe that was his gut.

Then, the moment that the zipper was past the peak of his belly, the task of getting it where he wanted it to be, a little over half of the way down his upper torso, was a lot easier than getting it past his belly button.

And once he had finally managed to close the zipper, he let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a groan when he felt the fabric of his uniform strain and stretch outward as it was pushed forward by his gut beneath it.

He heard the creak of the fabric and the faint groan of the zipper that battled against the incoming force beneath it to keep the two halves of his uniform together. Even as it was apparent that it was a losing battle on the zippers parts.

Peter had barely even let out his belly again after having put on his full uniform before he felt the tank top he was wearing beneath the jacket slip its way out of his pants and up over his belly.

It didn't move far past up his waist, but once he stopped sucking in his undeniable gut, his tank top went past his waist and stayed there for the rest of the day.

That was another indicator to Peter that he was getting too big for his clothes.

His tank top would not stop moving up his belly whenever he stopped sucking it in.

And even then, keeping it past his waist and tucked into his pants was a struggle that just like the jacket was getting harder and harder to accomplish with every passing day.

But even so, Peter didn't find himself with any kind of inclination to hit the gym that was provided for him in the cell. Even if he was well aware that all of his continued struggle with ever-increasing wardrobe malfunctions was directly related to him packing on more and more pounds by the day.

He just didn't care at the moment.

The clothes that he had been provided with two weeks still fit him. If barely.

But now, it wasn't because they were too big for him.

Rather, it was the opposite.

He was getting too big for them.

And somewhere in his lethargy filled mind, Peter found that fact funny enough to keep the clothes as they were and continue growing in them instead of simply asking The Warden about getting some new measurements and some clothes that matched those measurements.

He just didn't want to do that at the moment.

No matter how frustrating it was that his clothes didn't fit him and refused to stay in place anymore.

Peter guessed that somewhere in his spoiled mind, there was a part of him that wanted to see just how long his uniform would last against his increasing girth.

* * *

It didn't even last until the end of the week.

* * *

Peter was enjoying his lunch when it happened.

He was in the middle of enjoying another hamburger lunch when the zipper broke right above his belly.

There were a snap and a crack, and then Peter felt his shirt rise above his belly button as air rushed across the soft skin of his gut.

And the moment that the zipper broke above his belly button, a good chunk of the rest of the zipper followed.

The sound of the teeth of the zipper splitting apart tore through the air for a moment as more of his shirt was exposed and more of his belly jutted forward a couple of inches to take up the space that was just vacated by the tightly fitting uniform.

Peter didn't even notice any of it happening. He barely heard the sound of the zipper breaking over the sound of his own chewing and the sounds on the TV. Nor did he really notice or care when he felt his shirt slip even further up his gut as the zipper of his uniform finally broke.

He was to busy enjoying his lunch to either notice or care about his clothes losing the battle with his gut and his belly claiming more space to take up as its prize for victory.

Instead, he just kept on chewing through his latest burger, his third still in hand and a can of coke that came with the burger lunches.

The variants were chicken, beef, and vegetarian, mixed with different kinds of fries and different kinds of drinks. And Peter was fully engaged in enjoying them as best as he could.

He must have been doing a good job at enjoying himself if he didn't even notice that the zipper on his jacket was practically busted until he had finished his 9 meal lunch.

By that point, the rift in the zipper had only gotten bigger and his tank top had only risen further up his belly.

And he didn't really care about it.

Instead, he only patted his stuffed gut, eliciting a belch from himself that echoed through the vast cell before called The Warden with the Cell Remote to have the guards take out the dishes from the cell.

* * *

It was as he was watching two guards take care of his dishes while he was standing a bit away from the table, his hands cuffed behind his back and with a guard on either side of him that he inspected the damage his expanding waistline had done to his uniform.

His uniform jacket was almost completely open. The rift in the zipper went from right past the very bottom of the jacket to about halfway up his gut. With his tank top near the still tightly strained fabric nearly completely exposed where it rested a good way up his gut beyond his belly button.

Thanks to the breaking of the zipper that helped constrain his growing gut within the uniform, his already sizeable belly jutted out even further then it did before the day's lunch.

Peter doubted that even if he sucked in his gut, he wouldn't get the zipper to close again. Both due to the state of the zipper itself and the size of his belly at this point.

He mentally shrugged at the thought.

There really wasn't any point in even trying to fight the zipper anymore if it had already started losing its battle with his belly. So he wasn't going to.

Besides, at the rate that he was going in at the moment, there really wasn't any point in stopping his expanding waistline anymore.

The fact that the zipper on the uniform broke only solidified the fact to Peter that he was going to grow out of his current uniform a lot sooner then he thought.

As he looked down at his expansive gut, Peter genuinely wondered how long the rest of his uniform was going to last if the zipper had already started to give.

* * *

It turned out that the remainder of the zipper only lasted about a week after the zipper first began to break.

* * *

Peter didn't know that it would be the case that day as he had spent the entirety of noon in nothing more than his underwear and tank top and only got dressed after lunch.

And when he did, he found his daily struggle with the upper part of his uniform jacket to be even greater then it had been for the last few days.

Since the zipper broke about a week ago, Peter had stopped even trying to get the zipper to close over his gut, so instead, he kept his focus on the upper part of the jacket, beyond his growing gut.

Getting the zipper to close downward instead of upward was already a finagling struggle, but it was only made more and more difficult as the area beneath it only got bigger and wider by the day.

He had not accounted that the rest of him would expand and get bigger together with his growing gut.

So he was caught a bit off-guard when his growing and widening chest started causing resistance against the zipper thanks to his slowly sagging pecks.

The thought that he was now too big to even hope of getting the jacket to close crossed his mind as he struggled with the upper parts of his uniform and when it did, he stopped struggling with the jacket.

\- Seems as if I am too big for this now. Peter said to no one with himself with a sigh as he let go of his jacket.

Peter let out a breath of air as he started to wind down from the struggle, only for the button on his pants to come flying off with a resounding **PLICK!** that shot through the silence in the cell like a gunshot.

A lot of things happened all at once when the pants button lost its fight against his growing girth and was sent flying across the expansive cell.

His gut jutted forward as his uniform jacket parted ways even further and parted even further as his sleeveless tank top rocketed up across his gut.

All while his gut raced forward, quickly expanding and filling up and going outward in every direction that his pants continued resistance had kept it from going before.

Peter blinked at the sound of the button shooting of the waist like a bullet.

But the moment that the button lost the battle against his growing girth, Peter felt some of the tightness that had plagued him for the last week leave his body as his whole body bloated forward and outward. Taking on an even rounder and softer shape than before. And his gut was already pretty round and soft looking before.

Even if the lack of the last button led to his busted pants to sag down his thighs a bit.

The release from tightness that had plagued his waist for weeks led to the Peter keeping his eyes closed when he blinked as the relief from the lack of tightness and tension over the majority of his body washed over him.

* * *

But after a few moments of close-eyed content at the feeling of some cool, ventilated air hitting his soft and exposed flesh, Peter opened his eyes and inspected his body.

Now that it wasn't constricted by either the tight and quite obviously outgrown uniform that had strained and struggled to contain his newfound girth for weeks. Or his equally outgrown pants that had struggled to hold it back for just as long.

With both of those factors gone, Peter guessed that his gut would look a bit different from what it did just a few moments ago.

He braced himself for opening his eyes as he lowered his head down towards his chest. Then he opened his eyes and saw the damage he had done to his body through his own laziness and complacency, coupled with his new diet.

His gut didn't look that different from before in his opinion.

* * *

It jutted out a bit further then it did before now. With the sphere of round, soft flesh extending past the waistline of his blue and red underwear by several good inches.

Peter estimated that at the peak of its curve, his gut now hung roughly around 10 to 15 inches past his waist. Or at the least, 5 inches.

It was kind of hard to tell by looking at it alone just how much of it hung over his waist.

All that Peter knew that it was enough to conceal the rim of his underwear from his sight all by itself.

In fact, he couldn't even see his feet beyond the peak of his now unrestrained gut.

* * *

His white, sleeveless shirt, now completely free from any sort of restraints, be it the uniform or the size of his belly, had slipped several good inches up his gut and now rested halfway up his torso and now only covering about 1 third of his rounded stomach.

Peter could probably pull and yank at the bottom of his shirt where it rested on top of his belly all he wanted, but he doubted that it would do both himself and his shirt any good.

His shirt would probably not even be able to cover another inch of his exposed belly, no matter how hard he tried to get it to cover even the smallest of inches beyond the place where it had now settled itself at the top of his gut.

And he doubted that it would budge from its perch, no matter what he did.

Which left almost all of his gut completely exposed.

There was more of him that was exposed then it was covered by the shirt.

Peter had no doubt that he would have come off looking like a slob to anyone who had seen him if he wasn't wearing his prisoner outfit over his now exposed underwear and shirt.

What with the size of his belly and how much of it that was currently exposed.

As well as the way his shirt was placed over it.

* * *

The longer he looked at all of the rounded, soft looking flesh that was his gut that had been exposed by his outgrown uniform, the more the fact that he had grown well and truly fat settled into his mind.

He had only been in the Luxury Isolation Cell for barely a month.

And he was this fat already!

Peter _almost_ didn't think about how fat he would be by the end of his 4 months stay in the Luxury Isolation Cell if he was this fat already.

 _Almost._

* * *

Peter raised his right hand from his sides as those thoughts raced through his mind.

Yes. He was fat.

But the question that now surged through his head was "Just how fat am I?"

Peter looked down at his gut, studying it intently as he raised his right hand to the top of his gut and curled in the rest of his fingers beyond his index finger.

And then he poked his belly.

His finger sunk into it as if his gut was a soft pillow.

He was fat.

\- Whoa! Prison food sure is fattening... Peter said to himself as he poked himself in the gut and felt the fat skin form around and beneath his finger again.

It jiggled from the motion as his finger sunk deeper into the soft, doughy mass.

There was no argument to be had right now.

The proof was right there before him.

On him.

In the shape of a big, round, sphere of soft, jiggly and squishy fat.

Then he poked his gut a third time just to drive the point home to himself.

Yes.

He was most definitely fat.

* * *

Some would probably say that his gut wasn't a pretty sight.

That Peter should be ashamed of himself for having let himself go as badly as he had.

But Peter had honestly expected himself to be bigger by this point.

Then he shrugged to himself as he stopped playing with his exposed belly.

He gave himself a week or so until he was at the size he thought he was going to be when he would be too big for his uniform.

But first, he had a more pressing matter to take care of beyond his own expectations about himself.

He walked up to the table, picked up the Cell Remote and contacted The Warden.

* * *

The Warden was sitting in his chair in the center of the Prison Observation Room when his Luxury Cell Master Remote crackled to life, drawing his attention away from the various cell blocks that they had surveillance inside the room off. And to the cell block that only has surveillance outside the cells instead of outside of them.

Cell Block 11 and the only occupied cell within that block. Cell 11-A and its lone occupant: Peter Parker.

 _\- Um...Warden?_ Peter's uncertain and slightly embarrassed voice crackled through the speaker of The Warden's Luxury Cell Master Remote.  
\- Yes, what is it, Peter? The Warden asked good-naturedly as he could manage while still keeping an eye on the prisoners that were still milling about the compound instead of being outside in the courtyard.  
 _\- I think I need a new uniform..._ Peter continued with an uncertain his voice.  
\- And why is that, Peter? The Warden asked as he motioned to have a few guards send the last strangling prisoners out to the courtyard.  
He knew the reason why Peter would need a new uniform. And he suspected that Peter knew that he knew it too. He just wanted to hear him say it.  
And the fact that Peter needed a new uniform this early in his stay in the Luxury Isolation Cell made him very happy with himself.  
 _\- It's too small for me... I have outgrown it. I can't even get the jacket to close anymore. And my pants are busted as well._ Peter said with obvious embarrassment in his voice as The Warden smiled to himself.  
\- Alright then. I'll send a set of guards up to your cell and have them escort you back to the fitting room so that you can be outfitted with a fitting uniform.  
 _\- An escort? Is that really necessary?_ Peter asked, confusion and hesitation clear in his voice.  
\- Why yes of course it is, Peter! The Warden answered loudly and exuberantly.  
\- We cannot allow you to just wander through the prison to the outfitting room. After all, you are a flight risk prisoner, so we can't have you attempt to escape the moment that you are let out of your cell. The Warden elaborated once he had reeled in the laughter that was bubbling up through his chest.  
Peter really was the right kind of person for the experiment.  
 _\- Oh...Okay then..._ Peter said in a befuddled and slightly confused voice as he swallowed The Warden's words hook, line and sinker.  
 _\- How long will it take for the escort to get here?_ Peter asked after another short break in their conversation.  
\- Not that long. It's easier for the personnel to move through this place then it is for the prisoners. The Warden answered easily before he shook his head to throw away the tangent.  
\- You might as well prepare yourself by going to your usual spot for whenever guards enter your cell. The Warden continued barely a moment later.  
 _\- Okay. I'll do that...But they better not be too long._ Peter finished with an accepting, yet demanding voice at the end before he hung up before The Warden had a chance to respond.

The moment that Peter hung up, The Warden pulled the Luxury Cell Master Remote away from his ear before he strode forward and delegated the task of sending six officers up to Cell 11-A to escort Peter down to the fitting room to one of the communication officers. Then, while that happened, he delegated the task of informing the Fitting & Mugshot office that they would have a prisoner with an outgrown uniform incoming shortly and therefore prepare accordingly to another communication officer.

Once he was done with that, The Warden returned to his seat and sat down with a tired sigh as he watched his orders being followed while he started returning his eyes to the corridors of the prison that appeared on the security screens.

But not a moment later, his phone, that was currently resting in his pocket, started ringing.  
Picking it up while straightening his back, The Warden took one look at the caller's number before it clicked in his head who it was and answered the call immediately once he knew who it was.  
\- Mister Jameson. What pray tell, do I owe you the honor of getting a call from a man such as yourself? The Warden answered in both a humorous and sarcastic voice.  
 _\- Cut the smarmy crap, you hear me. And answer me this instead. What in all the pits of hell are you feeding my employee? Peter has been writing more and more about what he was served for lunch and then anything else. He seems downright enamored with whatever you are feeding him. And that is what I want you to tell me. What are you doing to my employee? He's only been in your care for less than a month, and he already seems to be more spoiled than the son of Norman Osborn or some other successful business man's snot-nosed brat. I'll ask again, just what are you doing to Peter? Recently, he has started remarking how tight his clothes have become recently in his journals. And while I knew that he would probably put on a couple of pounds while living a life of luxury, I was not expecting it for it to be that obvious to him already. He has been in the cell for less than a month for crying out loud! No matter how much good food you feed him, he shouldn't be writing about growing out of his uniform until at the latest Month 3 in this whole ordeal. So you better tell me what the whole deal with this is or I will come to you and personally pull Peter out of that cell faster then you can say my name! You hear me?! So start talking! Tell me the how of the why Peter wrote about not being able to close his jacket and busting his pants this early? You got me?!_ James Jonah Jameson practically yelled into The Warden's ear loud enough for his whole monologue to be heard over the whole Prison Observation Room.  
\- Easy there James, easy. Or you might come across as actually caring for your worker's well being. The Warden replied with a good-natured chuckle in his voice once James had finished his rapid-fire monologue.  
 _\- Of course, I care about the well being of my employees. Any good boss does. Especially if they can sue you for all your worth._ Jameson fired back with a heated voice filled to the brim with irritation.  
 _\- Now cut the bullcrap and answer my question. What are you feeding Peter? Why has he gained so much weight so fast?_ Jameson continued before The Warden had a chance to say anything else.  
\- Easy. The first class food we are giving him is not first class food. The Warden answered simply, a small smile on his face.  
 _\- What?_ Jameson answered in a stumped voice after a long moment.  
\- The food we are giving Peter is basically just glorified fast food. It's made just as cheaply as it. If not more. The Warden continued easily.  
 _\- Why? I thought that there weren't going to be any cost-cutting measures in the cell. Or the treatment of its prisoner._ Jameson continued, his voice sounding rough and hard.  
\- Jameson. I am running a high risk, top of the notch security prison, housing hundreds of some of the worst and most dangerous criminals that have ever plagued New York City. And even though The Luxury Isolation Cell is proving itself to be a worthwhile investment, it was and still is a very costly investment that we need to make back to actually profit from it. And making counter fit first class food is one of our cost-cutting measures for the cell. The Warden explained conversationally.  
He heard Jameson make a loud, growl like groan on the other end of the phone after his explanation.  
 _\- So...You are telling me that my employee is basically eating glorified fat made to look pretty?_ Jameson said with a tired and frustrated voice that had definitively taken a hostile tone towards The Warden.  
\- Yes. The Warden answered with a quirk of his lips.  
\- Peter is basically stuffing himself silly with empty cholesterol and carbs dressed up as the food for kings. It will fill him up enough to make him feel full, while in actuality only filling him up enough to still want more, no matter how much he has eaten. The Warden explained casually.  
 _\- Okay...So...You are making Peter fat. But even as a cost-cutting measure, making food that is deliberately made to be as fattening as possible, no matter how cheaply it is made, would still cost a pretty penny to add to the bill of the Luxury Isolation Cell. And if you want to be as cheap about that cell as you made yourself sound to be, then you could have just fed Peter the same food as the rest of the prisoners. But instead, you are giving him food that is made to make him as fat as possible. Which tell me that even if it is cheap, that you have another reason behind that decision._ Jameson fired off after a moments thought.  
And before The Warden had a chance to answer him, James continued.  
 _\- You told me that Peter would partake in an experiment while inside the cell. I am guessing that it has something to do with that?_ Jameson finished firmly as The Warden smiled at his words.  
\- Yes. That is right. That is a part of the experiment that Peter is unknowingly and unwittingly partaking in. The Warden explained with a pleased sounding voice.  
 _\- And what kind of experiment is that?_ Jameson asked, sounding as if he already had a good guess of just what kind of experiment that he had signed Peter up for.  
\- Easy. Whether or not treating our prisoners well and spoiling them will make them more docile and complacent. And whether that kind of treatment lowers the risks of them attempting to escape. As well as whether or not making them to fat to do much else then laze around in their cell helps any of the former causes. That and whether an increase in their weight and increase in complacency lowers the risks of prisoners even attempting to rebel against us during their stay here. The Warden explained breezily.  
\- And so far, the experiment is going very well as Peter has been nothing if not docile, complacent and compliant during his stay here. He's been here for about a month now and so far, he's been too preoccupied stuffing his mouth with food and enjoying his stay in the cell to even seem to consider attempting to rebel or escape from his cell. Ever since he started putting on weight, he has been nothing if not an explementary prisoner. The Warden finished with a proud and triumphant voice.  
 _\- Sounds to me as if you are already considering the experiment a success._ Jameson said in a low, dark voice, sounding as if he wanted nothing more then go to Rikers Island and pull Peter out of the cell then and there.  
\- Yes. The Warden replied easily with a click of his tongue.  
Then his smile widened.  
\- But it isn't until he actually tries to escape and we see whether or not his increased size makes it easier to either stop him in his escape or make it easier for us to recapture him if he does manage to escape that I would call the experiment a success. The Warden explained easily as he heard Jameson bite back a growl from his side of the phone.  
\- Either that or if he admits that the thought of escape never crossed his mind while he was in the cell when we let him out. The Warden finished with a proud smile as he thought of all the parameters for both success or failure of the experiment that he had set up for the experiment.  
So far, most of the boxes for the experiment being a success had already been ticked off.  
And it had barely been a month since the experiment began.

A silence followed The Warden's words that stretched out long enough for The Warden to start worrying if he had stepped on too many of Jameson's toes to be allowed to keep Peter in his facility for the remainder of the experiments time.

Then Jameson spoke up again.

 _\- Okay. One last question. If the food is basically just glorified fat, then how come Peter is eating so much of it in one sitting? And not just a lot of it, but every bit of it at that? If the food was just fat, then he should be full after just one of your tasters. But instead, he finishes all of your tasters, main meals, and desserts. How does that work?_ Jameson asked with an impatient voice, clearly done with The Warden's bullshit.  
\- Oh, that is easy to answer Jameson! The Warden exclaimed jovially.  
 _\- So answer me then._ Jameson responded dryly.  
\- The food is not as filling as you think it is. The Warden continued with an amused and gleeful smile on his face as he answered.  
 _\- What?!_ Jameson exclaimed from his end, only for The Warden to explain further.  
\- You are right in thinking that if the food that we are feeding your employee was made out of pure fat, that he wouldn't be capable of stomaching everything that we are feeding him. But the food has been made to account for that and are in fact been tailored to increase Peter's consumption of food. The Warden started as he heard Jameson's teeth click on the other end.  
\- While one of our Tasters are as fattening for Peter as a regular three-course meal, it is only as filling as eating half of the dish that it actually is. The Main Courses remain are about 1 and a half times more fattening for Peter as the Tasters, while being only one third as filling as the meals are supposed to be. While the Desserts are about twice as fattening for him, while only being about a quarter as filling as the regular treat is meant to be. The Warden continued, a satisfied purr filling his voice as he sunk into his chair like a corrupt autocrat on his throne.  
\- Basically, Jameson, Peter could eat and eat and eat to his very heart's content, but he would never feel completely full and always feel some niggling sense of hunger left in him. No matter how often or how much he ate at every opportunity. He will always feel like there was enough room for more and that he could always have another bite. Regardless if he has become addicted to our food or not. The Warden finished with a twisted smile on his face.  
 _\- You deserve to serve a sentence in your own prison._ Jameson said in a voice that was as far from jovial, friendly or calm that The Warden had ever heard him speak with.

And then he hung up.

 **To Be Continued.**

* * *

 **DUN DUN DUN!**

And so, the secret behind Peter's rapid gain and the prison's motives behind The Luxury Isolation Cell Experiment has been revealed.

Now, for those that are disappointed in me for revealing this as early as I am, I have only one thing to say to you:

If you didn't want the magic explained, you shouldn't have complained about the magic not being explained.

Either way, with that bit out of the way (just saying that because it is appropriate, I was going to reveal that fact early regardless if people wanted it or not), this part is finished.

And with it, Peter's first month in The Luxury Isolation Cell is nearly over.

Next Part, Part 4, which is going to take place IMMEDIATELY after this will mark the end of Peter's first month in the Luxury Isolation Cell.

This part, just like the rest of the story is based on my request for this month by the ever wonderful and amazing artist:

Part 4: New Measurements: Coming in May.

Spiderman, Peter Parker and James Jonna Jameson belongs to Marvel & Disney.  
The Spectacular Spiderman belongs to Greg Weisman and Victor Cook.  
This is fanart and fanfiction. It is not a violation of copyrights.


End file.
